


Tin Man

by Cyane



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Insomnia, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rated for language that cap wouldn't be proud of, Tony Has Issues, back when things were good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 16:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11650482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyane/pseuds/Cyane
Summary: Tony has a long, complicated, on-off relationship with taking care of himself. At the moment, they're at an "off" point. The team worries.





	Tin Man

**Author's Note:**

> Getting off writer's block. Instead of c. nanowrimo, another ongoing story, or the 130 prompt list I need to fill out, I decided to write some fluffy angsty Tony shmoop. 
> 
> Takes place post Avengers, before Civil War or any of that shit happened. Just domestic bliss. And I forgot to write in Thor, so oops.

"You're approaching the forty-hour mark, sir." JARVIS's accented drawl rang out. Tony made a noncommittal grunt.

It wasn't like Tony actively avoided sleep. Maybe he didn't necessarily _enjoy_ sleeping, since it was usually accompanied by vivid, gasping nightmares. Maybe Tony just didn't like the thought of being vulnerable- being unaware of his surroundings- for hours at a time, when anyone could come up and slit his throat, or worse, take out the reactor-

Tony shuddered at the passing thought, pausing his movements for a moment. He had been working on a new and improved shield for Steve, and although he had reached the point of perfect a few days ago, there was always room for something. _Anything_. Whatever got his hands moving so he didn't have to think about sleeping.

"Sir?"

"What is it, Jay?" Tony barked back crossly, fiddling with a wrench. The upgraded shield would have an electric pulse that Steve could enable, although it wouldn't damage his arm. There was also a nifty sonar chip that Tony had embedded into the side-

"Sir, need I remind you that you haven't slept in forty hours? And that you haven't eaten in at least half that amount of time?"

Tony exhaled slowly, groaning at how concerned he had enabled his AI to be. "JARVIS, cool it. I've been drinking coffee every few hours, I'll sleep when I'm done. Just need to finish this."

Of course, Tony knew that if JARVIS could, the AI would be sighing. "You said the same when you completed Agent Barton's new stealth bow, and the same when you finished Doctor Banner's suit, sir. In the last week, your sleep measurements have been below three hours."

Damn. Tony's eyes rose in mild surprise. It was less than usual, but he'd gotten a solid hour and a half two days ago, so it wasn't enough to be concerning. Yet.

"I'm reprogramming you," Tony muttered under his breath, going back to work.

He glanced over at the nearby workbench. Sure enough, the gorgeous new bow he'd designed for Barton was sitting there. And, by God, it was a beauty. Retractable, with sleek black padding and intricate grey and purple detailing going down the ridges. The arrow rest had been modified for precision, and the upper and lower limbs had a slight mirror effect for enemies behind. 

Tony had nearly added a cupholder before JARVIS convinced him that it was good to go.

And Bruce's new suit? 

Well, Tony wasn't much of a tailor. It was simple enough, though, and he'd finally made retractable panels in Banner's pants that would grow and shrink to whatever size he was at. The hard part was getting the panels to go back after the transformation, but after another few hours, he'd gotten it down. 

And now cap's shield upgrades.

Maybe it _was_ a little ambitious for a weekend project, but it seemed to be going well. 

"Oh- shit!" Tony exclaimed, raking a hand through his hair; which was sticking up every which way, greasy and wild. "Jay, how long do you think it'll take to add reflective stealth panels to the shield prototype? More than half an hour?"

"Might I suggest-"

"- _No,_ you may not. Hey, tell Bruce and Clint to stop by here whenever they get the chance; I have some new toys for them to play with."

It only seemed like a few minutes later when Bruce and Clint came down to the workshop, although when Tony checked his watch, it read that it had been a little after an hour. _Time flies when you're working_ , Tony thought with a grimace.

"Good morning Vietnam! You guys ready for upgrades?" Without waiting for a response, Tony jerked up towards the table and erratically started fumbling with the stealth bow. "This baby is mark twelve. I'll get going on mark thirteen- I'm hoping to get these mini-missiles to fit in the upper limbs that follow the direction of the arrows- which, by the way, I'll be getting several new types of soon- and they'll come in from behind, so you can target them before you shoot."

"Jesus, Tony." 

Tony paused, blinking for a moment before turning towards them. Clint and Bruce were staring at Tony like he'd grown another head. 

"What?" Tony questioned, after a moment of awkward staring. "I can totally redo the color scheme, if it's throwing you off, bird-brain. I was going to add a cupholder or something, so you could grab a beer and kick some ass at the same time, you know? It wouldn't be efficient, but it was sort of funny. Ha-ha, hilarious, stand-up comedy sort of funny."

"No, _God no_ \- Tony, it's perfect. Seriously, you outdid yourself, man." Clint rubbed the back of his neck. He still wasn't smiling, which was sort of confusing. _If you like it, what's the long face for?_ Tony wondered.

"It's just... you've been down here for a long time. Like, none of us have really seen you for a few days. _Days_ , Tony. And you look like shit."

Almost self-consciously, Tony ran another hand through his hair, trying to straighten it out. It only made it look more ragged. His wild, exhausted eyes looked almost animalistic, and the whites of his eyes stood out starkly against the dark lines under them. 

He had been wearing the same long-sleeve black shirt for the past week, although the sleeves had gotten so covered in oil that Tony had finally rolled them up to just below his elbow. The flannel wrapped around his waist was more of a dirty rag, at that point, and his face and arms were smudged with dirt, grease, and scratches. There was also a small, festering burn blister on his forearm. 

"I'm flattered you noticed my new eyeshadow, Barton," Tony snarked.

Clint shook his head, still refusing to smile. "I'm serious, man. When was the last time you slept? Or ate?"

While Tony debated whether to lie or to change the subject, JARVIS piped up, completely uninvited, with: "Agent Barton, mister Stark has not slept for over forty-hours, and the previous sleep before that lasted for the short half of three hours. Mister Stark has not eaten a proper meal in the last week, however he has consumed coffee at an hourly rate."

There was a long stretch of silence. Bruce rubbed a hand over his face and looked away. Clint leaned forward slightly, shaking his head in disbelief. 

"...Mute," Tony said weakly, although JARVIS had already said it. "I can always donate you to a community college, Jarv."

"What the fuck, Tony?" Clint asked. "Alright- no, come on. You're coming upstairs."

"Why?"

"Wh-" Bruce sort of choked on a strangled sound. " _Why?_ You're kidding. You're joking, right? Tony, you need to eat. And sleep. Those aren't _optional things_ , Tony, those are mandatory if you want to keep living."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Guys. I'm fine. Getting this shit done is priority, end of story. It's more important that we're prepared for the next mission than-"

"-For you to be alive?" Clint finished coldly, crossing his arms over his chest angrily. "So you're officially putting _useless cupholders_ ahead of your own goddamn life? What the hell, Stark."

"Not useless," Tony reminded him. "It's pretty funny. You know what I'm saying? In the middle of a mission, just take out some beer and relax?"

During the argument, Tony had continued installing the reflective panels on the shield prototype, and right as he finished speaking, the last one fell into place with an audible click. All three of them glanced down and Tony broke into a grin.

"See what I'm talking about? Wow, that was fast. This is the best version of Cap's shield yet. It's got a seismic wave blaster- or, well, the small equivalent of that only it's concentrated and can be pushed in one direction- electronic pulses, it figures out all the angular physics and force required and can add some- it's the pinnacle of shield tech. Well, for now, that is."

When Bruce and Clint just stood there, dumbfounded, Tony quickly added, "When you guys go back up, could you tell Rogers to stop by? I want to make sure everything looks spic-n'-span before it starts rolling out, eh?"

The plates on the shield fit perfectly. For once, Tony thought that everything might just be complete about it. But, being Tony Stark, of course, he would always find something.

There was always _something_. 

When it wasn't Armageddon, it was an army of space alien robots attacking Manhattan from a portal in the sky. When it wasn't that, it was some other kind of terrorizing monster from the sewers, or a herd of giant, fire-breathing ants, or terrorists, or spies, and when it wasn't a physical war to fight, Tony would have arguments with Steve, and even if they didn't-- even if _everything seemed OK for once_ \-- then Tony would have trauma-induced anxiety attacks and nightmares.

Tony Stark was never getting let off the hook. But on a range from a nightmare to Armageddon, Tony would take the nightmares any day.

...Or not. Which is where the insomnia kicked in.

Even if Tony wanted to sleep, there was really nowhere he felt safe enough to do so. Maybe the general public couldn't get in, maybe he had the best security systems in the world. But Obadiah had wormed his way in, literally and metaphorically, and Tony wasn't about to let it happen again.

"Tony?"

"Hm?" Tony blinked the tired haze out of his eyes, realizing that Bruce was standing right in front of him, lightly touching his shoulder in concern. 

"Alright, fun's over," Clint breathed out. "Let's go get some food in you, poindexter, so you can get some rest."

"But-"

" _No arguing_." Bruce said firmly, steering Tony towards the workshop door. JARVIS was silent, his way of showing his approval of the gesture. Tony was too dazed out to really do anything, or put up a struggle.

When they got into the kitchen, Natasha and Steve were already having a pleasant conversation over coffee, looking at old newspapers. They both looked up once Clint and Bruce came in, dragging Tony behind them. 

"Oh my god- Tony?" Steve was on his feet in an instant. "What happened to you?"

"Insomnia and stupidity," Bruce growled out, taking Tony over to a barstool and shuffling through the fridge for something to eat. "JARVIS, mind telling them what you told us?"

And JARVIS- the smug bastard- was all too happy to respond. 

"Certainly, Doctor Banner. Mr. Stark has not slept in forty hours and twelve minutes. His previous sleep lasted two-point eight hours. Mr. Stark has not eaten-"

"-We get it," Natasha cut in, walking towards the bar with a serious expression. "He hasn't been taking care of himself... as per usual. Food and sleep, Stark. Is it really so hard to remember?"

Tony shot her a look. "I'm making you guys stuff, remember? State-of-the-art technology, coming daily from me. You want garbage that comes out every million years? Go to Hammer tech. You want the best of the best? Let me do my fucking work."

Bruce pulled out a leftover tupperware of the Thai tom ka gai he had made, and tossed it into a pot on the stovetop. Clint expertly took away the bottle of scotch that Tony was reaching for, and went to put it in the back cabinet. 

"Tony, we don't care about _stuff_ , we care about you," Steve corrected, with that kicked-puppy-dog expression of his. He looked genuinely hurt that Tony had even thought that. "And if you're running yourself into the ground, it's not the fancy tools we're worried about, it's you."

On one hand, Tony didn't handle sentiment well. On the other hand...

"...That means a lot, Cap," Tony mumbled. 

Steve finally relaxed a little, leaning back and smiling. "Good. Now, how about this? We're not on schedule for any briefings, meetings, or missions, so let's start movie night early. I'll make popcorn. It's Nat's turn to choose the movie."

"Lord of the Rings," Natasha said immediately. 

"Star Trek!" Clint retorted.

"Lord of the Rings."

"You _promised_ we'd have a Star Trek marathon! It doesn't even have to be the old ones- we can have the shitty reboot ones!"

Natasha looked offended. "The reboots are the best part of the franchise, Barton."

Tony watched them bicker back and forth and let himself take a deep breath. The caffeine was wearing off and he was just _so tired_...

Seeming to notice how his eyelids were drooping, Steve lightly took Tony by the shoulders and pulled him towards the couch. Natasha put in Lord of the Rings while Clint bitched about it, Bruce stirred the Thai soup, and soon all of them were sitting around the flatscreen, bundled up in blankets, watching. 

Steve swathed himself in a wool-knit gold blanket, squashed into the side of the couch. Next to him was Clint, still grumbling about Stark Trek. Lying horizontally on top of both of them was Natasha, who was wrapped in several quilts. On the other side of Clint was Bruce, who was adjusting the blanket around his legs. 

And Tony was lying between Clint and Bruce, with his feet on Bruce and his head in between Natasha's feet. And he was already asleep. 

The rest of the team shared a pleased look and turned back to the movie.

Tony awoke in the morning without a single nightmare, surrounded by people he trusted.


End file.
